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About Literature / Artist Senior Member mindful coyoteUnknown Group :icontransliterations: transliterations
from one world to another
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Core Member 'til Hell freezes over
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Random from DDs I Featured

You used to show me your
skeleton, the secrets inside
of you, your marrow. You
run, you shut your eyes, now.
You shut your eyes at the color
of the flowers, the leaves, everything
is orange. I am gathering
acorns. I am wearing your mask.
:iconohfever:ohfever 231 37
If I regret anything, it is the reticence of birds--
my reticence, the uncertainty of the word "today,"
which rusts like the flute before Judith one.
If there is a time to undress, it is now,
but my thoughts close in on me, like a tunnel,
and I lose sight of everything except the wind.
Beneath it all, my hollow bones
are icy blue, each joy expunged--
I feel it keenly, here, and there.
:icondeadend-zenith:deadend-zenith 133 14
Transdimensional Super Team
Notice: The full length version of this tale, which is far more palatable, is available right here.
The magical computer pool glowed.  We stood around it like gods.
"Place your palms upon the unimetriscope," said the man in the top hat.  "Validate your identities to Her Majesty, the Queen of the Multiverse."
It all seemed a bit hoity-toity to me, but there's a lot to be said for peer pressure when some extra-dimensional fancypants tells you your "peers" are a lady with wings, a James Bond looking guy, a giant robot, and a little girl and her psychic-bondmate, a white pony.  
The guy in the top hat called himself Jeremy Flavius Beedle, and he twirled his mustache when he spoke.  
He'd found me in San Francisco.  I wasn't even working.  I was sitting outside the ferry building munching down on a pastry from the shop there when he approached me.
Top hat and cane, fancy suit, and a giant
:iconlunaticstar:LunaticStar 77 58
clark kent
Silver eyeshadow and a blush; smack lips
and sway hips. The nail file's on overtime
and the glitter's out sick. Snap bra strap,
winking at the mirror; stars could get lost
in this cleavage, and these cups could be
flowerpots for a healthy crop of petunias
or baskets for hot air balloons, if I chose.
Tonight I'm juxtaposing crepe with Lycra;
all those stubborn parts sedated, yielding
like cats before the leap. Skirt the colour
and size of a blackbird's wing and knickers
tight enough to make me sing. Peep show
smile; big hairstyle. Just the faintest smell
of wine. And I close the phone booth door
without a single sound:
tonight I don't fear Kryptonite.
I'm going on the town.
:iconzebrazebrazebra:zebrazebrazebra 154 100
There's a saying among my people. It was something about how you have nothing to fear from a pond full of leeches, how it's not the pond's fault. I used to remember it a lot more clearly, but that was before the loss of cohesion.
The elders say I was sent as a warning of things to come. The medicine man never said much of anything. He waved his bones and feathers and trinkets around, he lit his grasses and fanned his smokes, and after singing his songs he just stared at me with a deep pity shining out from under his skeleton make up.
I am subject to visions. They are sudden and striking and painful to the point of debilitation. When they come, my senses stagger and die off. There is always a great sound like a huge zipper being pulled, and as it unzips, all other noises fade into nothingness. Gray static envelopes the edges of my visual field and creeps slowly and deliberately in, turning my surroundings to an indistinct slate.
I discovered this gift when I was fourteen. A robber had b
:iconivannikolayevich:ivannikolayevich 187 49
the bright scarlet egg of dawn
nests in my head.
when it is time, it will crack my
skull like a shell
and be born.
I have a witch's fingers and a
witch's eyes, rough pewter lenses
through which I see the world.
I have sabotaged their crops,
I have plagued their children,
I have eaten their livestock in the night
   (so they say)
and I hear the whispers in the streets.
they will be willing to kill
for their conviction, though
I am not willing to die for it.
I am no longer human.
I've been branded
with an ugly mark
of fear and desperation,
one terse syllable that cuts
like a switch.
a thin reddish line splits the horizon;
I set my ribs on hinges
so they can get to my heart.
a damp wooden platform,
a rough rope necklace—
I am not a Spartan
carried home on his shield.
this is not an honourable death.
:icontoxic-nebulae:toxic-nebulae 186 102
FFM 2011, 29.7 - The Tower
"Dora speaking."
"Mrs. Appleby? This is Aimee Bonner. I don't know if you happen to remember me..."
"Ms. Bonner? Of course I remember you! You were my star pupil in the 7th form. I'm so glad to hear your voice."
"That's right! That's right, Mrs. Appleby. I'm glad you remembered me. Um. I know this isn't strictly according to procedures, but I was wondering if you could help me with...a thing."
"You're being awfully secretive, Aimee. I can't promise anything before you tell me what it is."
"Well, ah, you see, it's a matter of...uh...invading realities? Maybe I better explain...."
"Ms. Bonner, if you have a haunting or a poltergeist or anything of the kind, you really ought to be calling the authorities, not me."
"If you'll just let me explain Mrs. Appleby, please."
"Oh, very well."
"It's like this. I have a freezer in the cellar, where I keep frozen berries and mushrooms and things. It's quite roomy, although I usually manage to keep it filled to the brim. Anyway, I was going down there
:iconwolfrug:Wolfrug 89 66
No ocean
No one sleeps the night the army comes home,
and memory storms the shore, bipolar and sexy.
You always knew where to go and what to drink,
where to find the crows that stalked the summers
left lying wrinkled on shorn boardwalks,
Augusts headless and Julys scuttling over hills.
When you were gone I fucked Arthur Rimbaud
in a Parisian basement. He hooked his eyelashes
under mine and made waves on my skin.  
Tolle, lege, like the parable tells me.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 130 84
"They're gone again Mom!" The distraught wail of my son wafted in through the still open door.
I pulled my head and a load of flailing clothes out of the dryer. "Oh no, sweetie, you're kidding!" I followed the cold draft to the open door. Buford was standing at the  bottom of the steps, tears welling up in his blue, seven-year-old eyes. He pointed to the spot where his Jack-o-Lantern used to sit.
My own heart sunk to the spidery frost formations on the steps. He was a timid kid, Buford. He was fiercely intelligent, and he took pride in his work, but he got discouraged easily.
His grin had been so unreserved last night when he had shown Bret and I the lop-sided cackle of his Jack-o-Lantern, his bright little face smudged with the orange-yellow juice and webs of pumpkin guts still trailing from his elbows and fingers. It had been a project of many hours of scooping and carving and even more drawing and redrawing the perfect face. It was his second one this year.
"You said it wo
:icontheelectricmonk:TheElectricMonk 145 32
She opens windows
in  their wintery home, hopes
to let the cold out
when it doesn't work
she scratches matches to life
and burns the house down.
:iconsssorry:Sssorry 182 32
Even Though
There will be no caged fingers,
no tendons finely tuned to A from tension.
There will be no clenched teeth, gritting rosin,
to make the final singing note growl.
There will be unwinding bed-sheets,
hands slowly releasing the tuning pegs.
There will be slowly sliding scales
as the four limbs loosen past playing.
There will be a simple, quiet exit,
not to ovation, but to a hushed audience
who anticipate an encore,
even though it is uncertain.
:iconpretty-yin:pretty-yin 146 41
Nanny thinks the carpet is too soft
to be my torturecage
and the sofa and endtables are poor
jailbars, but we
are feline and we're too tough to care
bigsister and littlesister are lioncubs today
baby lionesses, authentically,
we even lap milk from
ceramic bowls, bellies swollen from
the orders we give: 'emily, you're the
Get us more milk.'
She hates serving us, she's only four
but she's getting strong and someday
she'll earn predator status.
(give thanks that we do not consume you, emily,
your fingers peek through the cagebars and
they are white and young and blood
is sweeter than breastmilk)
Roar. We are learning to growl
and snarl.
I tried to wrestle littlesister but we collided with
Nanny's gnarled sandalfeet and
she's mad.
So am I, Nanny.
I am a lioness today and I
am fierce.
Sarah tosses her mane and I explain patiently (she's only six) that lionesses are free,
don't need manes to chase antelopes
she's too young to care
if her imagination grants her maned masculine lion
:iconinkatmidnight:InkatMidnight 179 79
swimming, not drowning.
when you're waist-deep in a love you know you shouldn't have even dipped your toes into, you spend a lot of time cursing the current. you try to stamp your feet but find the sand's up to your ankles and seaweed is tied in bows around your calves. the waves begin to climb, breaking on your collarbones and splashing your face. breath seems to take up more space in your chest. you bring air into your body in the shortest bursts possible and it spills back out like machine gun fire.
sometimes, though-- mostly in the first hours after sunrise, when you're alone with the space she inhabited on your couch and her perfume on the back of your knees-- you plunge your face below the surface and smile up at the sky, dragging your arms through the water just to feel its resistance against your skin. you pretend that holding your breath is a decision you're choosing to make rather than a necessity for survival. you pretend the waves are lively and invigorating instead of terrifying and beyond your c
:iconsatah:Satah 204 84
After the wet season, before
the midsummer night's drought,
I flight for the floodplains, where
the northern downpour bleeds out
and sweeps its love to the mouth
of my lungs. I sleep in the crux
of an oxbow, let my dreams flux
and flow fractured, deltaic. For this
is the way I piece myself apart,
a resolution, my absolution
in a new avulsion.
During the day, I move south
towards the river mouth, picking
pebbles, coral fangs from the riverbed.
A loose tooth is a common truth
in these parts. Bones are febrile,
eyelashes are made of chalk, salt.
Tears turn brackish. They cake
and crack on the flats of my hands.
This is my Pangaea,
this swollen geography,
this slacken land.
The point of no return.
Here, all else ends.
By dusk I meet the saltmarsh
and dehusk, grow halophytic
in the nightlight. I pull out
my hair, my fingernails, and
fill the gaps in my spine
with reed rhythms, saline.
The final rite: turning flesh to grass.
Tomorrow, morning mist
will drag the whitewash back,
ashes to ash.
:iconangel-in-pieces:angel-in-pieces 126 51
Actinium Dreams
Y'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever — Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium — and yet have no special talent of your own?
I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the worst possible mix of autism, Alpha rays and ADHD.
And I do at least have my own nemesis, of sorts: the cadre of good ol' boys who call themselves DOTA, whose main ability seems to be workin' together to nullify and trap super-powered elementals. But t'be honest, they don't seem to have anything against me personally; I think they just have a ge
:iconhavetales-willtell:HaveTales-WillTell 166 136
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

Hi Def Distance Romance

Tue Feb 20, 2018, 2:41 AM

Listening to:

Kimbra - Hi Def Distance Romance

Skin by ginkgografix

Here comes another late night call...
Hi all. It's been a hell of a year so far, hasn't it? I've been trying to make a point of changing my habits this year, particularly in the past few weeks. I'm making it a point to get up and exercise more, the eating habits are next on the list, and most importantly I'm trying to write again. Not just telling myself I want to do it, but actually making myself use free time to do it.'s something.

I feel like I've kind of been letting time go by without working toward anything other than surviving in the past few years, and I don't like that much. So, that's something I want to work on as this year goes on. For now, though, I'm trying to make small changes that are easier to commit to, in the hope that the big picture gets better in the process.

In lighter news, I've been playing D&D with a few friends, so that's been a fun and consistent social event that's getting me out of hermit state. It's also been good fodder for writing, as coincidence would have it. I think in the process of working on these various things, I've cut back on my time playing Overwatch, but I don't feel bad about that in the grand scheme of things, so maybe it's just for the best in general. I think that for all the fun I've had playing the game, it's also been a contributing factor to me not focusing on actual life goals and the like.

Anyway, it's pushing on 3 am and I'm rambling, what's new :laughing: How are we all doing?

Music corner:


mindful coyote
Artist | Literature
Hi there! I'm a writer and a former volunteer and employee here. If you've got site questions, fire away! If I can't help you, I'll point you toward someone who can. :]

Deviousness Award

Deviousness Award
A deviant for nine years, ikazon is a monumentally influential member of DeviantArt. A champion of DeviantArt’s literature community, he’s contributed his own writing and journal skins to the community since he first joined DeviantArt. In 2011, ikazon became a Community Volunteer, shining a light on undiscovered pieces in both the DeviantArt related and literature galleries. His dedication to the community quickly made him a beloved figure on DeviantArt. Soon after, in 2012, he was hired as a full-time staff member, where he ran multiple community projects, such as the 2014 and 2015 Valentine’s Day Exchange!

However, ikazon’s contributions to the community extended past his time as a community volunteer and a staff member. From contributing journal skins to the CalendarProject to leaving encouraging comments for his fellow community members, ikazon’s supporting presence has been felt all across DeviantArt.

We’re proud to name ikazon as the Deviousness Award recipient for March 2016!
-awarded March 2016


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TenTonParasol Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2018  Student Filmographer
Hey! It's Gena, the former itzjusdrama. Wow, I've been AWOL for a long time, six years, and sometimes just made me want to log back in and take a look around. Things look very different these days, and I'm not overly sure where one hangs out here, but it's nice to see someone from the old days still around. And with a familiar icon, no less!
ikazon Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2018   Writer
Ahhhhhh, long time no see! I hope you're doing well, wherever you may be! :hug: What have you been up to? And yes, I'm just a little too fond of this icon to not keep it, at this stage. I've had it on for a long time now :D
Memnalar Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2018
ikazon Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2018   Writer

Hope things are well down there for you and yours, Jay. :)
extrin6 Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2017
there are some really gorgious pieces in your gallery!
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